


Carousel

by SharpestRose



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003), Ultraviolet (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike knows he's being watched. He notices the girl first, she follows him to the bars. She's beautiful. But then, they always are. Something about the way they hold their mouths, the way their eyes react to light. Brightly plumed predator to draw in the prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carousel

He starts drinking after work. It's not like he'll lost his colleagues' respect if he's hung over on the job. It becomes habit, until it feels like something natural as waking up.

Sometimes his hands feel filthy, and he scrubs the skin raw. When the water pinks in the basin, he pulls the plug out and vomits quietly down the drain.

Mike knows he's being watched. He notices the girl first, she follows him to the bars. She's beautiful. But then, they always are. Something about the way they hold their mouths, the way their eyes react to light. Brightly plumed predator to draw in the prey.

Even with a few drinks in him, his instincts work well enough. One hand goes to the gun in its holster, the metal warm against his palm.

"No," she shakes her head, beside him before he can register she's moving. The mirror behind the bar tells lies; shows nothing but empty air. "Don't do that. I hate guns, they're such ugly things."

"Too new-fangled?" Mike retorts. That earns a small amused smirk from her. Her hair's dyed black and almost shocking against the paleness of her face. Aristocratic features, her neck and shoulders graceful angles above her dark clothing. A vampire fancier's wet dream, really. But Mike lives in a world of Code V's and sleeping with one eye open, and has no time for teenage ghost stories about dark and tempting undead beauties.

"No." The answer comes with a wider smile. "We had pistols when I was a girl... and I didn't like them then, either." She sighs, somewhat theatrically. "Why couldn't swords stay in fashion? I _like_ swords. There's something noble about a blade."

"Nostalgia must be a bitch when you've got so much of it." Mike wonders if he'll kill her or just sit here and keep drinking. Either choice seems as gray and pointless as the other.

"You say it sarcastically, but it's true," she says, and sounds contemplative. "It's funny though, isn't it? The same stories repeat themselves."

"Do they?" Mike asks. He knows she isn't young, but she looks it, and he's too tired to seriously consider doing a neutralisation. He always feels like that, now. Since Jack.

"Oh, yes," the young woman answers, and then she walks away.

\--

Pearse never has a remission and dies quietly in a private hospital. He's at peace when he goes, having laid to rest old ghosts and made sure those he is leaving behind are taken care of.

The team go nearly four weeks without a religion specialist, though it barely seems necessary anymore to utilise such tactics. Now it's just a matter of finding ways to fight back on the scale of the attacks, new biochemical weapons to kill an army made up of the dead. Angie's hardly ever out of the lab, Vaughan's taking his frustrations out on anything he's allowed to shoot. And Mike, well, Mike's drinking a lot and thinking about the ones he's let go. Kirsty, Frances, the girl with the dark dark hair and clothes and the white white skin, Jack. Alive, dead, they're all gone away just the same.

When the new recruit comes, she's not what any of them expect. Twentysomething, stubborn-looking. Sleek brown hair and little gold-framed glasses on a nose which still bears ghosts of childhood freckles. There are traces of a west-coast american accent in her voice, the edge of the twang dulled by a few years in Britain.

"Dawn Summers. Pleased to meet you," she says with a slightly nervous smile. Angie is uncharacteristically warm in her manner as she greets Ms Summers, and Mike has a suspicion that this is because the girl reminds Angie of her daughter. Ms Summers would probably not be flattered by a comparison to a twelve-year-old, but the cheerful welcome visibly relaxes the young woman.

Vaughan takes a shine to her because she's a good shot and not afraid to get her hands dirty.

"Back where I'm from, you learn early," she explains. "We've got a different breed over there, as a general thing. They're not here so much as they used to be 'cos your Code V guys tend to wipe them out before moving into the area, but there are a few hotspots in the U.S even now. They're not so organised as the kind you're fighting here, but stronger when push comes to shove. If you want to survive for any amount of time fighting, you learn."

Ms Summers is adept with a sword. It makes Mike remember the girl in the bar. Ms Summers seems more in her element like this, freer and younger. Twenty-five at most, probably twenty-three. Later, he learns she's barely twenty, having gone through her studies at double-speed. He is surprised when he finds out, as there are old heartbreaks in her eyes which make her look older than she is.

"How exactly did you come to work with us, Ms Summers?" Vaughn asks, obviously thinking along the same lines as Mike.

"Oh, call me Dawn. Ms Summers is totally my sister, I never get called that. Father Pearse knew my friend Giles pretty well. I met him once, a while ago. Father Pearse, I mean. I'm really sorry for your loss." Her face, curiously open in expression for one so nervous, shows that the emotion is genuine. "They talked about maybe hooking me up with a job here. I didn't hear anything more, so I thought it must have fizzled, and then Giles calls me and says you need someone with a folkloric background. So now I'm your girl." Another anxious smile.

"Welcome to the party," Vaughn says. Dawn, ignoring the cynicism in the words, grins.

\--

"Hey, wait up!"

Mike turns, more out of surprise than compliance with the order, and waits for Dawn to catch up to him in the parking lot. "We didn't get to talk much. Michael, right?"

"Mike," he answers. She nods, obviously changing her mental database to reflect the new information.

"Please to meet you, Mike. Are you, like, going home now?"

"No, I was just heading out for a drink."

"Can I tag along? I mean, it's cool if you say no. But I just thought maybe it'd be good if we got to know each other, you know?"

"Look, no offense meant, but I don't think that's such a good idea." Mike opens the door to his car. Dawn shrugs.

"Okay, whatever. See you."

Her head bows a little as she walks away, and Mike feels the same vague parental instinct towards her that Angie showed signs of earlier. Which is ridiculous, of course, because Dawn's a member of the team and therefore someone fully capable of taking care of themselves.

Still, it must be hard, being the new kid on a squad of cynical old prats.

"Hang on," Mike calls grudgingly. "I'll give you a lift to the pub."

\--

The woman's there again, the one with the catlike eyes and the elegant throat. There's a companion beside her, a man as monochromatic as her. They could be bookends, the pair of them. A matched set.

Mike studiously ignores them, and Dawn appears oblivious as she prattles on about her undergraduate studies at Oxford and the flat she lives in and the rare book shop her friend Giles owns and the small private institution she's studying through now. She's doing her thesis on 'divergent and convergent evolution in humanoid species with hemoglobin-based dietary cultures as it pertains to iconographic allergies'.

"I just call it 'why some vampires don't like crosses'," Dawn explains simply.

"Thought it was psychosomatic," says Mike. Dawn shakes her head.

"I thought so too, but there's a bunch of evidence saying otherwise. 'S why I'm doing the thesis on it, because nobody really knows." Dawn's posture stiffens, straightens, and she puts her strawberry daiquiri down on the bartop. Mike, sensing trouble, glances around. The pair of Code V's he noticed earlier are coming over, their beautiful mouths curled in predatory smirks.

"New girlfriend?" the woman asks. The man is standing close to Dawn, as if to breathe in her scent. One of her hands moves to the pocket of her jacket and a second later the man is gripping her wrist, holding it away from his throat. A small dagger, the blade sliver-edged, gleams in the dim light.

"Co-worker," Dawn corrects the woman, pulling her arm free and repocketing the weapon. "You interrupted our conversation. Don't you guys bother us enough during office hours?"

"I didn't know you lot were ever off-duty," the man says. "Surprised you haven't made a scene, aside from that little demonstration of your ability to do reckless and dangerous things in public. You're a little tease." He gnashes his teeth at Dawn, laughing when she flinches. "But it's good to see a blade again."

"Hmm," the woman agrees. She picks up Mike's beer and makes as if to sip it, spinning the glass between her palms. "I was saying just the other day to our friend here what a pity it is that fashions change."

"Are you guys just here to add atmosphere, or is there some point to your getting in our faces?" Dawn asks. "Because, gotta say, not that intimidated."

"I like her," the woman says with obvious glee. When she smiles, her teeth have the same odd sheen as her eyes. It's somehow off-kilter, like a photo processed incorrectly. "We wanted to introduce ourselves, of course. This is Will, and I'm Elizabeth. We know your friend Jack."

"Don't have a friend Jack," snaps Mike. The man - Will - laughs again.

"You were right, this is wonderful." He's speaking to Elizabeth, but doesn't take his eyes off Mike. "It's just as it was then... I wonder if the end of the chase will be as amusing. If the girl he lost was as beautiful."

"I do have a gun, you know," Mike says coldly. "And I'm going to empty every single bullet in it into your skinny dead chest if you mention her again."

That makes them both laugh. It's a sound like cold crystal clicking against itself, wineglasses playing a tune. Elizabeth puts the beer down again and touches Dawn's shoulder. Her hand is damp from the condensation on the glass. It makes Dawn think of old and half-forgotten memories.

"No need for threats, Mr Colefield. We're going now." Elizabeth's smile is almost kind as she strokes the back of her fingers against Dawn's neck. There's a scar on her palm, fresh enough that the wound must have happened shortly before she crossed over. Dawn shoots a look at Mike which is mostly exasperation with a bit of irritation mixed in, and Mike has to hold back a grin of his own. He's never thought of Code V's as remotely amusing before, but now he's seeing the almost funny side to it all, the bleak gallows joke.

Will makes a low bow to them both, offering his hand to Elizabeth as they depart.

"I've known men from your family before. They never liked me, either," he says to Mike in a low tone. "I'm an acquired taste, I suppose."

Then they're gone, and it's just Mike and Dawn again. They don't say anything for a while, and Mike drinks his beer. Dawn plays with the straw in her daiquiri but doesn't move to finish it.

"Been a while since I met one face-to-face," Dawn admits. "It's mostly theory for me nowadays. I'd forgotten how arrogant and annoying they are sometimes."

"Mmm." Mike nods agreement.

"I do remember, though, what it's like. When the enemy's a face you used to know as well as your own." Dawn's voice is soft. "I'm sorry. Whoever it was you lost."

Mike shrugs. "Everyone loses people they care about. Part of being alive."

Now it's Dawn's turn to hum in agreement and nod. She sips her drink. With the Code V's gone, the warmth of their conversation before the interruption seems to have fled also.

"I'll have a look through my books tonight. If they're as old as they were making out, there's gotta be stuff about them."

"Eager to prove your worth to the squad?" Mike asks, his tone only faintly mocking.

Dawn's mouth becomes a thin and tense line. "Just because you're fighting with new technology doesn't mean it's a new war."

"They don't even leave footprints in mud. I highly doubt there are extensive enough records to be of use."Mike shakes his head, tips his glass up to catch the dregs, and moves to leave. "Good to meet you, Ms Summers, I'll see you at work."

The street outside the pub is sparsely populated with people out for a night in town. Mike blends into the crowd, glad to be alone with his thoughts.

"Don't be a jerk, Mike." Grabbing his arm, Dawn halts his walk. She's obviously run to catch up with him, and her cheeks are flushed. "Don't push everyone away just because it's easier."

Mike snorts, exasperated. "You Americans always want to share feelings and talk about problems. Dawn Summers - that's got to be the ultimate California porn star name."

Instead of taking offence, Dawn bursts out laughing. She still hasn't let go of his arm. "Not gonna work. You've got enough enemies, Michael. I won't let you make another out of me."

"What's it to you either way?"

Dawn shrugs. "I ended up thinking that dying for someone was an expression of love, when I first got messed up in this crap. And that bringing them back was worth it, not matter what the price. Even if they came back different." Her eyes are bright. "Whatever ghosts are haunting you, don't think you've got some personal claim to them. You're not in this alone."

"Vaughan sent you to talk to me." The words aren't angry, just a statement of fact. Dawn has the grace to look uncomfortable for a moment.

"Yeah, okay, there might have been a suggestion on that general theme at some point."

"Well, you can tell Vaughan..." Mike pauses, sighs, tilts his head back to look up at the sky. "Christ, I don't know. It's so goddamn _easy_ for him. It's never been easy for me, even before this shit with bringing Jack back."

"I know," says Dawn. "I know you don't believe me. But I do know, Mike."

They've started walking back towards Mike's car. He's probably too drunk to be thinking about driving, but that's never stopped him before.

"We're fighting a battle we can't possibly win. Trying to hold a tide back with a sharp toothpick." It feels strangely liberating to admit that, to know defeat and be unafraid of it.

"Yeah," Dawn agrees quietly. "But someone's gotta try anyway, because otherwise we'll deserve whatever happens next. I can't imagine going without a fight."

Mike nods, opening the passenger door for her before going around to the other side of the car and climbing in.

Elizabeth and Will watch as they drive away. Will is still pale, a silvered sheen on his skin under the gold of the streetlight. Elizabeth looks warm, flushed and alive, beside him. There's a trace of something dark on her lower lip.

"They're both lovely, aren't they?" Will says.

"Mmm. She reminds me of you," answers Elizabeth.

"Oh yes?" Will sounds amused.

"Yes." Elizabeth doesn't offer anything more. The pair of them walk away, unspeaking. They've long ago learnt to understand each other without words.

The air in the now-empty street grows colder. If anyone were there to feel it, it would seem like the beginning of an end.


End file.
